


What do you see?

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Minor details [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: The deviant leader has a unique pair of eyes on him.





	What do you see?

**Author's Note:**

> More rambling! At 00.42 because my brain hates being even marginally creative at a reasonable hour.

The deviant leader has a unique pair of eyes on him.  Not the components themselves - he'd already established in Stratford tower that the blue eye was a replacement and the green would be a common feature in others of his model - but the  _depth_ to them.  That's what originally halts his progression into the hold, grounded to his spot by the door as though someone had flipped the kill switch and deactivated him then and there.

They're  _expressive_ , but not as obviously so as the androids Connor has chased down, fought, killed.  Markus is  _subtle_ where the others are frantic, calm and composed but definitely feeling  _something_.  It reminds him of Hank, somewhat, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the lift of his chin, meeting Connor's stare and  _not_ backing down.  Determination, a stubborn streak, bound to get him killed just like the many, many times he's had to save Hank's much more fragile life.  There's fear, too, a flash of it when his gaze flickers to the gun trained on his chest and though his voice doesn't waver when he asks what Connor's doing, his hands flex at his sides as though he longs for a weapon.  Those mismatched eyes dart off his person for only a moment but it's enough to determine that he physically blocks the only route of escape, brows drawing together and an inward breath squaring his shoulders.  Resolve in that gaze, resignation, a  _challenge_.  He won't go down without a fight.

In that moment, his finger all but caressing the trigger that could so easily end the android's life and take the revolution with it, Connor doesn't know  _why_ he rebels against his programming, his objective, his sole reason for existing.  In that moment he simply  _does_.

* * *

Later, as the dust settles and the military has been called off in a temporary truce, after he's found himself once more at CyberLife's mercy and viciously fought to be in control of  _himself_ , fought to  _choose his own fate_ , when they make the slow trek across the ground they've covered and gather the bodies of the fallen, Markus somehow finds a spare minute to pull him aside and brush his thumb above the scraped chasis still raw and exposed along his jaw from the fight with the -60 model.

"Are you okay?"  He asks and Connor realises with a start that it had been  _concern_ in those eyes when he'd suggested infiltration of the tower, when Markus had laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and all but ordered him to stay safe and stay  _alive_.  It'd been  _relief_ when he'd succeeded and reunited with the main group, wounded and weary but still fighting, still strong, still determined in their cause and following in Markus's footsteps.

* * *

Markus, he discovers, is rather observant in a fashion similar to him, but for different reasons.  He pauses on the little things, gaze drawn to fidgeting hands or shifting weight or the subtle pinch of lips during difficult conversations, stressful situations.  He looks for  _hostility,_ looks to defuse or neutralise it, and Markus searches for fear and anger, aims to soothe and maintain peace wherever he can, however he can.  He looks for the red LED flare of distress, and Markus observes an android's facial expressions instead, its  _eyes_ , to gauge its mood. 

A month ago Connor would have believed it part of his programming, his  _design_ as a caretaker android.  A week ago he would have brushed it off as deviancy faults.  But to dismiss it in such ways would make him the most unobservant fool to ever set foot on the earth's crust.  It is both simpler and more complex than either theory - Markus is kind to his core and abhors violence.  At every opportunity presented to him he's chosen to inflict the least amount of pain necessary and never killed a human.  He always sought the path of least confrontation, the fewest casualties, and a failure to secure either burdens him with a terrible guilt.

He's glad - well, he  _thinks_ that's what it is - that Markus hadn't killed Leo Manfred as first assumed.  Such a haunted  _emptiness_ did not belong in those eyes.

* * *

North's voice is as much a weapon as a gun in her hand.  A quick wit and sharp tongue gift her the ability to verbally maul someone as thoroughly as Sumo physically does an empty food bowl, but her volume is her anger, her freedom, her  _own_ after so long in silence.  It is not harmless by any means but it's the safest.  It's the quiet one has to watch for, the curl of her mouth in a grin best suited for one of the old vampire shows, the careful measure of her steps, the practiced innocence that doesn't match the danger in her gaze.  With her fellow androids it merely means pranks are on the horizon, her own brand of bringing light and laughter to those robbed of both for so long.  For humans it means trouble, bloodlust, a loose cannon in need of monitoring.  There is a reason Markus steers her clear of peace talks.

Simon's fingers are much like Connor's own, fidgety, restless things always in search of keeping themselves occupied.  He mends clothing for the most part, a task he labours over at a human's pace, matching fabric to fabric and colour to colour as best he can with every stitch and loop.  They delve into circuitry, too, wiring, biocomponents and Thirium flow, learning as he goes in the shadow of the medic and maintenance models, hunched over and  _focused_ like a man on a mission.  There, in the quiet after another pair of eyes close for the last time, as he sets to salvaging the functioning remains to at least save another from shutting down... regret in the lines of his face, a deep sadness,  _guilt_.  He needs company the most when his fingers are still, when his thoughts are as cruel as snapping wolves.

Josh with his doubts and hesitance, the smiles are key.  An expert at hiding behind them and downplaying his state, his wellbeing.  The small quirk of lips, right at the corners, are a lack of comfort, an uncertainty, a moral question but placing his faith in what he deems are capable hands all the same.  The grimace-not-quite-smile is a silent disagreement usually leveled at North, but at others too, oftentimes Connor himself.  No movement at all is a moment of honesty, bare and brutal and weighted with its barbs.  Those that come with dimples and crinkles at his eyes are a rare glimpse of happiness, a heartbeat, a second, a minute free of the darkness of his past and his people on the brink of war.  A flash of teeth and warm laughter are relief to see the injured back on their feet, friends returning from runs for spare parts and new materials to rebuild what they've lost in the fighting.  And when his smile wavers, uncertain, but his hand is outstretched anyway...  _"welcome"_ is what it says.

He sees himself next in the meandering path Markus's thoughts have taken, the restless shift of weight from foot to foot, how he automatically seeks the shadows when other deviants are nearby, the hesitance in his smile when others express happiness at his presence, casually fussing with his hat so that it covers his LED around his own people.  The glances he chances when he thinks Markus isn't paying attention, lingering on a stare.  But what do  _those_ eyes see in  _him?_

_You're a mystery to me, Connor_ , is the secret in the code Markus scatters behind his eyelids.

"One I'd like to take my time unraveling, if you'll have me," he whispers next, and there's sincerity in that gaze when Connor opens his eyes and allows their connection to close.  Sincerity and something soft he doesn't have a name for, yet.

It's his choice to make, he can  _do that now_ , no protocols or deactivation codes holding him back, only what he wants.

"Yes," he says, and for once he sees  _Markus_ smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on [tumblr](https://wrathofscribbles.tumblr.com).  Feel free to pop by and scream with me over this game (boy was I wrong when I thought it wouldn’t grab hold of my soul) :)


End file.
